


melodious

by everlastingtremors



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Abduction, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bondage, Brainwashing, Hand Jobs, Illusions, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Consensual Bondage, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Sadism, Sex Magic, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, featuring some newcomers:, if i can't write urithan then i'll just put it in all my lahacred fics for the drama, starring the usual song and dance:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27601034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everlastingtremors/pseuds/everlastingtremors
Summary: He vowed that he would bend, but never break.A difficult vow to keep when Lahabrea knew his breaking points.
Relationships: Lahabrea/Thancred Waters
Kudos: 21





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Can be read as a standalone or a bad end sequel to Masked Devils. Idk. I'm just here to write angsty dark porn. Maybe someday I'll learn to write Urianger dialogue and finish my cutesy porn works-in-progress. Maybe someday I'll finish a fic after multiple sane sittings and not spend an entire day writing on a whim. Life's little mysteries.

The halls of Akademia Anyder stood in near perfect silence, though that was far from out of the ordinary. The real work began in the offshoot rooms, and it was in those rooms that the pristine neatness of the corridors was exposed for a fraud. Hundreds of rooms, thousands of Amaurotians, uncountable works-in-progress laid strewn across every available surface. One such Amaurotian glided past rows of doors, some open, others closed, but all of them bearing one commonality; the din of rambunctious life. Debate and discussion.

All of them, but not the room the Amaurotine was headed for. Up a small set of stairs, these doors were distinct from the others in that they were of a hue slightly more radiant than the rest, and that the door was always open— but just a crack. Just enough to announce that visitors were welcome, but there was work to be done on the other side.

With hesitant hand the Amaurotine took the doorknob in hand to peer inside. It was an expansive room, albeit with far less furniture than the standard laboratories. Most of the table space was pushed to the extremities of the room, and even then, only the surfaces at the back were ever in use. Tables lined up against a series of windows that spanned ceiling to floor, with baubles and bits mainly congregated in the middle where a figure stood hunched over in thought.

“Speaker?” 

Quiet, they watched the robed academian straighten up at their desk, a subtle perk at the interruption. An unspoken invitation to enter the room, though of course, the Amaurotine closed the door behind them as not to spoil the world to the Speaker’s newest creations before they were truly ready to marvelled at.

They were made aware of a sound, new and novel, unlike anything their ears had heard before. Like a soft chime, but more organic— singsong, but elegant. Muffled, kept hidden beneath Speaker Lahabrea’s cupped hands.

“Your students were asking for you, Speaker. Forgive me… I am not fond of forcing you to abandon your studies, but it _has_ been quite some time since they last saw you…”

“You needn’t apologize so,” Lahabrea replied, voice warm, aglow with the same sort of kindled flame that flickered to life whenever he was truly proud of his work. The Amaurotine stepped forward, curious, eager to know what the Speaker cradled in his palms. “I do have a tendency to fixate on my projects, do I not? You’ve every reason to check in.”

A quick visit. They vowed that would be all; that they would return to their studies and leave their busy mentor be. But questions hung on the tip of their tongue. Curiosity had brought them to Akademia Anyder in the first place. It would be against their very nature to turn back now. “Speaker,” they said, “If I may— what is that noise? It’s… quite ethereal. I think I like it.”

“Ah, yes. This is what I’ve spent so long perfecting. It is a simple task to birth a creature of flesh and bone, and yet… how I have desired to see if I could create a kindred spirit to you and I. A creature imbued with the desire to play and to experiment. With the ability to create miraculous works of its very own. I believe I have accomplished my goal at last.” Lahabrea glanced downward at his hands, head askew in thought. “Come. I will have you see it; I’ve yet to have anyone else offer proper critique.”

“S-Speaker! You want me to be the first?” An honor— an honor beyond anything they had ever anticipated! The first, the very first to offer their thoughts toward a virgin project. They braced a hand against their chest, struck visibly by the proposal. “I would be most pleased, but—”

“No, there is no ‘but’ about it. A masterpiece cannot be made but with the aid of one’s peers. Alone, I cannot see the flaws my eyes are blind to.” 

Lahabrea approached, and at once, the Amaurotine felt a need to bow their head respectfully. “I cannot argue with that, Speaker. Thank you for this privilege.”

The Amaurotine tucked their hands behind their back, shuffled closer, then looked to Lahabrea’s enclosed hands with baited breath. Already, mind spun with educated guesses. A creature of flesh and bone, with a voice both foreign but beautiful…

Whatever the Amaurotine had envisioned melted away at once at the unveiled creation. Seated in Lahabrea’s palm sat a small, delicate, feathered sphere of white. The creature glanced around with a peculiar fervor. Not frenzied fear, but a desire to drink in its surroundings. It stood on thin legs— a platform of gossamer that made the Amaurotine wonder how it could support itself.

The creature’s feathers grew, expanding to a show of fully fledged wing before it took off from Lahabrea’s hand. With a flinch, the Amaurotine stepped back both to give it space, and crane their head towards the ceiling as their feathered friend took perch in the rafters to deliver its song in unbridled peace.

“Your thoughts?” Lahabrea prompted, and for the brief instant the Amaurotine looked away, realized that the Speaker too was fixated on the ceiling. His calm smile brought a match to the Amaurotine’s face.

“Respectfully, Speaker, I must confess that I do not know what information it is trying to convey,” they replied, “But its voice is holding me captive. I feel… as though I cannot look away.”

“I wouldn’t say it was designed with practicality in mind,” Lahabrea said, voice both gentle and distant, as though his thoughts were with the feathered creature and not grounded. “So long as both listener and my little creator are pleased with its song, I will have accomplished my goal.”

“A musical soul,” the Amaurotine mulled over the concept as they spoke aloud. “It looks pleased to me, Speaker. Free to create melody as it so desires…”

“And you?” Lahabrea asked.

“And I am free to listen. I could not be happier, Speaker.” The Amaurotine gave a laugh, and their feathered friend descended from the rafters once more to glide through the chamber. It landed on Lahabrea’s desk amidst the organized chaos, threw up its head, and trilled. “I could not be happier,” they repeated.

“The moments like this,” Lahabrea replied, “I wish could last forever.”

_As do I, Speaker._ The Amaurotine thought, with no care or worry in the world.

_As do I._


	2. Chapter 2

_Do not forget yourself._

_No matter what may come, what storms you must weather—_

_Do not forget yourself._

* * *

But by the Twelve, it was hard not to when the only thing he knew was a quiet room, cold though never frigid, windowless and by extension, timeless. Ignorant of the outside world, how much time spent in this cell a vague estimate based around the length of his hair, long enough to be braided as it once was before his summons to Norvrandt. _Kept_ braided because the wretched Ascian preferred it that way.

It made Thancred wonder why Lahabrea had such a preference in the first place. How long had Lahabrea been watching him from the shadows after the destruction of Ultima Weapon? How long would it be until he found a weak spot in their defences, a moment of opportunity to slip free? Daydreams of freedom, idle and fleeting, less a coordinated attempt at formulating a plan and more fantasy. A canary in a cage, too weak and incapable of even tearing free of the cross-like pillar to which he was bound, wings fully spread and tied by the wrist at either end of the horizontal bar.

Bound and exposed so that when the door stirred, Thancred could do naught but lean his head against the stone at his back and close his eyes. The sconces on the wall roared to life with dim, dreary lights— Gods, he was tired of Lahabrea’s flair for the dramatic— and the Ascian himself entered, door closed behind him by one of his masked followers. White brows furrowed inward. He swallowed, throat dry, numb fingers curling into loose fists. Then with his best attempt at mustering dignity, pulled himself to sit upright and proper.

“Very good. I’ll make an obedient _dog_ of you yet,” Lahabrea taunted, halting in front of him, waiting for the retort.

It was an obvious retort at that. _I’m merely steeling myself, hardly for your benefit._ Obvious, at the tip of his tongue, yet kept behind bared teeth that peeked under his dried lips. Thancred knew survival; it was a sacrifice of pride at times, and survival here meant keeping the Ascian appeased. The quips stung, but words hurt less than the other tools at Lahabrea’s disposal.

Scavenging on the streets, taking refuge beneath the wings of vile people who kept him around just so long as he proved useful to them. Skinning beasts alive, alone in the Dravanian forests, elbow deep in blood in pursuit of meat and pelts. Kneeling to the enemy and prostrating himself for their amusement. It was all the same; or at least that was what he told himself.

He would have liked nothing more than to give Lahabrea a pointed, venomous glare. Instead he kept his head down until the back of a curved claw met his chin and pointed it upwards. Lahabrea wore his carnivorous smile with ease; the sort of look that convinced Thancred that nothing human lurked behind that fanged visor. No empathy, no pity, no love.

Merely a monster wearing human skin.

“What—” Thancred rasped, cleared his throat, then continued, “—is it you require?”

“I require nothing,” Lahabrea replied, “I’ve merely come to look upon my prize.”

_Well, here you have it_. By now he could presume by the answer that Lahabrea’s visit would be brief, but there was no telling for certain the whims of a madman. Thancred glanced off to one side, tolerant of the blatant ogling, the way the Ascian’s claws turned his head one way, and then another; an examination reminiscent of a chirurgeon, who paid particular attention to the scar across his cheekbone and the split of his lip. A chirurgeon with a perverse sense of amusement, who offered naught but a low laugh at his malaises as opposed to care.

“Were it only so that I had the time now. But opportunity awaits, and I shall not waste it.” Lahabrea knelt and leaned in close. Their lips brushed. Soft against rough. Unblemished against scarred. Quiet, Lahabrea said, “Later. Later, I will make you sing for me, my pet.” Then he took his kiss, long and hungering and murmured, “You had best hope I return in good spirits.”

Silent, jaw clenched, Thancred waited. Satisfied— or perhaps _unsatisfied_ — that he would not give a reaction, Lahabrea stood, looked over him once more, and turned to leave. The door creaked open once again. In perfect harmony, Lahabrea crossed the threshold between room and corridor, and shadow swallowed the light of the sconces whole.

With weary sigh, he turned his gaze away from the door, only for his heart to seize in his chest. 

Eyes, blank, grew sharp at the sight of piercing white robes that stood stark against the black of the chamber. Thancred watched, waited for the cloaked man to speak with breath caught in his throat. It was unprecedented, the presence of a person who was neither Lahabrea nor his underlings come to gawk at him like an animal in chains. And to have it be the Ascian Emissary himself. 

_To what_ , Thancred wondered, _do I owe this honor?_

Elidibus tilted his chin lazily toward the door, still mute, as though waiting for something— _someone_. Then, at last satisfied, said, “Lahabrea is unaware of my presence here, and I have no intention of toying with you, Scion.”

Thancred gave no answer, merely maintained his tired stare. Clearly, the Ascian had more to say regardless of whether or not he replied. They always did. “I can offer you release,” the Emissary continued— and instantly, _instantly_ , Thancred’s expression deepened with weariness, ever so accustomed to the prospect of release being tied directly to orgasm, wishing quietly that for once they would leave him be and stop pretending with their honeyed words that they were doing him a favor. Though Elidibus did not move, eerily still, looming a few feet ahead like an unholy shadow, he added to his cryptic statement: “Not in the terms laid between you and my colleague. I speak of death, scion. I can offer you a swift and merciful end to this nonsense.”

Thancred furrowed his brows. Quietly, he replied, “And why would you offer me such a thing? Lahabrea would take most kindly to finding a corpse in the stead of his plaything.”

“You would speak as though I have reason to fear repercussion,” Elidibus said, “Put aside your suspicions. Mine offer is purely for our benefit— your liberation is merely an after-effect.”

It occurred to Thancred then how dearly he missed conversation. An exchange with mutual respect. A tone that held no pity, no inherent superiority, no desire to see him humiliated. “Oh?” Thancred murmured, almost eager to hear Elidibus’ voice. Not that his offerings were terribly appealing, but for now, speech in of itself was enough. It _had_ to be enough, for there was nothing else to have.

“Surely, as the object of his fixations, you recognize Lahabrea’s obsession. I tire of it, and the distraction your presence enables. However, ultimately, you have yet some use to us alive. Thus I permit you the choice; life in bondage, or freedom in death.”

It shamed him to admit that he needed to ponder his decision at all. Not that death didn't seem an utterly terrifying prospect, but it would mean an end to the perpetual cycle of degradation and Lahabrea’s efforts to shatter his sense of self that grew more and more successful with every encounter.

Release. Permanent, sweet release. Thancred closed his eyes. It would be too easy to accept. And he nearly did, had the thought of his comrades not crept into the back of his head. He would never forgive himself if they came for him, searched for him, only to find a lifeless husk in exchange for their efforts. 

He couldn’t. Even if the chance of their success was astronomically small, he refused to lay such a burden upon their shoulders.

“I must respectfully decline,” Thancred said at last, looking back to Elidibus, “For it is my solemn duty to serve Lahabrea, and if my still-beating heart should yet have purpose, then beat on it shall.” The sting of the quip on his tongue nearly made him smile at himself. Knowing that it would not earn him backhand nor lashing. Through it all, he was still himself. Fractured and scattered perhaps, but himself nonetheless. Lahabrea be damned.

Elidibus spared no emotion, but that was to be expected. “I see. Indulging his perverse desires will prove tedious in the immediate. But I have given you the liberty of this choice; you have taken it, and now I shall take my leave of you.”

“No more time to spare for me?” Thancred asked. Heart clenched as Elidibus turned away. Reality melted into an abyssal gate at his front. Gods— being able to speak freely was a blessing. And it was all too quickly slipping through his fingers.

“None that I care to give,” Elidibus replied. He took his leave, and as the shadowed maw faded back into regular darkness, Thancred gave a bitter laugh, falling limp once again in his bindings. Exhaustion set in as though he had just traversed the lands on foot; how sad that the mental effort of debating life and death for a mere minute was enough to rob him of his strength.

Elidibus’ words proved food for thought, however. How interesting to know that the Emissary had no love for this little game. Keen mind grasped for ways to use this knowledge to his advantage, but came up painfully empty in any regard that would help him get what he wanted. That being, of course, _liberty_ — and not the false liberty of death. Perhaps if he found himself alone with one of Lahabrea’s underlings, a lesser rank that might hesitate if he passed that information along… 

But that was a half-baked plan at best, and there was no telling what it might yield. He was in no state to be experimenting. His acts needed to be deliberate, and more than anything else, _certain_.

There was nothing more to be done. Thancred sunk back into the stone and made a feeble attempt to adjust his arms, to find a position that allowed for a scrap of comfort. In the end, he rested his head against his shoulder, and prayed to the Twelve for some sleep before the dreaded beast returned to his den.

* * *

Whether the flare of the sconces or the slam of the door woke him from his slumber, there was no way of telling. In the end, Thancred supposed it was irrelevant. Scattered, he blinked himself awake. Unfocused gaze latched on to the robed figure who drifted across the room, from door to stone throne across from him. Too far for either of them to touch, but close enough that Lahabrea could sit and admire his handiwork in peace.

Neither spoke, and it unnerved him. Of course he wouldn’t be the one to initiate conversation. Not anymore. But more often than not Lahabrea entered with insults in tow, baited commentary designed specifically to fish for an answer he didn’t want to hear. The bastard loved one thing more than his beloved God, or his little toy— and that was his own voice.

“Well?” Lahabrea rasped at last, “Have you no words for your reverent master?”

_I most certainly do_ , Thancred thought. _Die_.

Not his most witty retort. Eyes glowered at the stone by Lahabrea’s boots, stoked by a dull flame of hatred that scorched his insides. Yet dull flame was still too bright for Lahabrea, and though Thancred knew this well, it didn’t strike him until Lahabrea gestured for his underling with the flippant wave of his hand. “Bring him here.”

Thancred stiffened at the approach of the obsidian mask. Muscles tensed in his back, instinctively, when they reached to release his wrist from one cuff, then the other. Nose wrinkled at the momentary freedom. Had it only been his first day. They would not have dared to loose his shackles; that would have been all he needed to snap a neck or break an arm. Gaze shifted from hot to cold; frustrated to sullen. The underling bound his wrists behind his back with biting chain. The moment of opportunity was gone, Thancred thought, yet fully aware that moment of opportunity had passed ages ago.

Choose your battles wisely, they said, and this was not one he cared to fight. Numb arm gripped by the masked underling, Thancred allowed himself to be ushered towards the throne, then seated on Lahabrea’s lap. Legs straddled Lahabrea’s thigh, and he felt at once the stir of the Ascian’s erection against him. A clawed gauntlet settled on the hip closest to the arm rest of the throne. Lahabrea stroked it tenderly as lips met his shoulderblade. “What happened to invoke the curious spark of life in your eyes, I wonder,” he murmured, then ran his tongue against the bone. Hand on Thancred’s hip edged closer and closer to his front. “Resilient. Stubborn. Arrogant. Must I tear you down anew every time we meet?”

_Bite your tongue,_ Thancred commanded himself. It would do him no good to talk back. Such behaviour accomplished nothing but momentarily elevate his pride. He knew this well by now, but ran his mouth all the same. To feel power, even if for the briefest of instants? It was well worth it— in the moment, anyway. “Not quite as simple a task as you hoped, is it?”

Lahabrea merely laughed, a cold and hollow sound. “Your liveliness has returned to you, beast. Hm… can you feel this?” He pressed his groin against Thancred, erection stiff. “The thought of watching you crawl on your stomach for mercy stokes the flames within me. For all the bold words that emerge eagerly from your tongue, there is nothing I cannot do to you. No inch of your body that I do not own, no part of your soul I cannot shatter.”

Gauntlet met his cock at last. Fingers played idly with his member, to which Thancred first squeezed his eyes shut, then clenched his jaw. Though flaccid, Lahabrea’s motions were gentle; circular, repetitive, carefully rhythmic to draw out a deep-seated anticipation. He needed no visual cue to know when he passed a particularly erogenous spot. In fact, there was damn near nothing Thancred _could_ do to hide his pleasure.

It had once been Lahabrea’s body too, after all.

“Most pitiable. Do you feign resistance to maintain your charade, my pet? Your skin is painfully flushed.” A comment that drew a sudden self-awareness to the heat that radiated from his cheeks, the nape of his neck. “You are beyond Hydaelyn’s reach now, boorish brute. Perhaps you believe these little acts of defiance to be an attack against your enemy in spite of your _acute_ disadvantages.” Against Thancred’s will, his abdomen trembled with a sharp inhale. Lahabrea moved from idle play to a purposeful rubbing. Unclawed fingers stirred his cock while the claw of his index scratched lightly at his pelvis, above his member. As though to further encourage the erection that had already awoken beneath his touch.

Lahabrea laughed. A haughty huff of breath against Thancred’s neck. “Fool. You wage war though victory has since been secured. You will die in your shackles— though not ’til I have grown weary of watching you suffer.”

“Are my actions not beneficial to you?” Thancred replied, a low, but sharp growl, “If I am here for your amusement, then giving up is to your detriment. Man cannot truly suffer without hope of a better future.”

“Curious,” Lahabrea replied, tone suddenly flat, “I had been under the impression that, at the very least, I had broken you of your tongue.” He released Thancred’s member, who in turn barely stifled the urge to release a quiet gasp. He turned instead to Thancred’s face, to cradle the scion’s cheek. Thancred’s eyes fluttered open to lips below the mask that had grown bared.

In spite of his defiance, throat tightened at the expression. Thancred prayed to the Gods his eyes didn’t shine with the hot fear that boiled in his ribcage. Lahabrea was barely tolerable when he was in a playful mood— but that? _That_ was the look of an Ascian whose absolute sense of power felt threatened.

“‘Man cannot suffer without hope’?” Lahabrea repeated. “No… no. You are mistaken. You tolerate your suffering under the impression it will one day end, do you not? Yet,” grip tightened against Thancred’s cheek, “Tenfold will be your despair when I have snuffed out any last ray of light you might struggle to find. I had hoped to preserve this gift until a later date— but I fear you have need of it. Do you not recognize this vessel, my pet?”

Was it not the same vessel as always? Thancred blinked, then squinted as though to look for a small imperfection he had glossed over. Eyes dragged across the Ascian’s jaw, caught on distinct facial hair he had not noticed, and every cell in his body seized with an immediate, paralyzing chill.

“What…? No,” Thancred murmured, under his breath. There was no way in the Seven Hells he could have missed it. He tried to rear back, but Lahabrea caught his back before he could slide off Lahabrea’s lap, and the hand against his cheek took such ferocious hold he felt the sharp pinprick of punctured flesh from the Ascian’s claws.

He blinked again, and by the Gods, he wanted to vomit. How had he missed it? He would have had to be blind not to see the way in which Lahabrea’s hood protruded to accommodate Elezen ears underneath. Surely his eyes deceived him. Yet Lahabrea’s underling circled around to pull his master’s hood down to his shoulders and remove the fanged mask. Whatever fear he had so desperately tried to hide rushed to the forefront. Urianger’s face, a body he was so intimately familiar with. Eyes he knew and loved, corrupt with vicious desire.

“What have you done?” Thancred gasped, breathless. Again, he reared back, desperate to separate himself from the illusion— it _had_ to be an illusion! He searched, aghast, and ripped through the details of Urianger’s face with his gaze to find a contradiction.

A thick cloth settled around his head, against the bridge of his nose. “Bastard!” Thancred howled, ignited with a need to fight back, to steal one last glance at the face he knew so dearly. But the cloth fastened, and immediately after, Lahabrea released his grip to let Thancred wrestle free and fall to the floor against his shoulder.

_Fight tooth and nail_ , one impulse screamed, yet the other drowned out the rest of his senses. The impulse that said, _it’s too late. It’s too late, and it’s your own damn fault!_

“Their fates,” Thancred stammered, “Tell me their fates! What did you do to them?”

He needed to know. He needed to pore over the story, to prise a falsehood from Lahabrea’s wretched mouth and confirm it was all a terrible, terrible lie. Lahabrea laughed. “Even now you search for hope. I would tell you nothing. Use your imagination, scion. Tell me what _you_ believe the fate of your comrades to be.” Voice started as Lahabrea’s distinct rasp, and ended with a farce— a perfect replication of Urianger’s voice aside from the complete and utter lack of warmth.

“You wouldn’t have waited so long, Lahabrea,” words rushed forth before he could stop them. Before he could think to get up, a weight settled on top of him, and Lahabrea straddled his fallen form. “You would have told me the instant you returned. Nor—” if only he thought before he spoke. “—nor do you feel like him. Your body, your weight— it’s all wrong. Your words are naught but an empty lie!”

“Yet how _your_ body trembles, my pet.” The borrowed voice made his skin crawl. “How can you be certain?” Gloved hands traced his ribcage, lean, but not yet emaciated. “Your loved ones may very well have changed; as have you.” Enough to a seed of doubt. How long had it been since they last shared a touch? Despite their intimacy, could he truly say with complete conviction that he knew the body on top of him by touch alone?

“Shut up,” Thancred murmured. “Shut up! If this— if _these_ lies are how you think to break me— you are mistaken! I will— nghh—!”

A hand settled beneath his breast. Thumb to one side of his nipple, the rest of Lahabrea’s hand to the other side. A sharp shock rippled from beneath the Ascian’s palm, quick and painful enough to draw Thancred’s back up from the stone in an arch. “The battle has been won,” Lahabrea hissed, “and you have lost. The only sounds I desire to hear from you now are your _screams._ ”

Undeterred, Thancred continued: “I will fight ’til the day— aaagh!” A second shock. He threw his head to one side and grit his teeth together. “—’til the day that I die!”

“Croon as you wish,” Lahabrea replied. If one strategy failed to yield results, the demon simply switched to another. One hand slid to Thancred’s throat instead, while the other trailed back down to his member. “Shall I enlighten you on a small fact, my pet?” Lahabrea leaned in, better locked Thancred’s throat in a choking grip, and spoke Urianger’s voice in his ear: “The soul in this vessel yet lives.”

Involuntary titivation took what little breath Thancred had left beneath tightened fingers. Through bared teeth, he snarled: “Why—? Why are you telling me this?”

“Already,” Lahabrea said, slipping his fingers beneath Thancred’s balls, investigating his perineum with heated breath, “You prove more obedient. Your body betrays you, my pet. How you grow still the instant you suspect an opportunity for reprisal.”

His body betrayed him in more ways than one. Pelvis rolled forward into his enemy’s pleasing touch. He tried to maintain his composure, yet every time Lahabrea’s fingers ghosted the sweetest of spots, he passed it over. Lahabrea laughed again, quiet and scheming.

At last, Lahabrea freed his throat in favor of Thancred’s face. Thumb passed over his cheek. Fingers brushed his hair away from his temple, and though he pulled away with an aggressive twist of the head, Lahabrea’s touch was persistent. Gauntlet met his temple. His thoughts, strung along by panic and disbelief, dominated every inch of his mind until the cold of steel claws met his skin. Then, like the brush of his hair, something brushed against the inside of his skull. Forceful, aggressive, it pushed aside his thoughts in spite of his attempts to chase after them, to latch on to the facts that mattered.

All at once, his mind felt scattered. No longer in a panic. Lost, dazed. Only to hone back in on the pleasure that was welling in his cock. “You—” Thancred started, but found himself unable to finish the sentence. _You’re toying with my mind_.

“I am _what_?” Lahabrea asked, endeared smile audible in his voice.

Legs shifted beneath Lahabrea’s weight, and chin lifted toward the ceiling. The words wouldn’t come to his lips. Vaguely he thought of Urianger. That the body on top of him was supposedly that of his fellow scion. That _Urianger_ had him by the dick, hands bound behind his back, pulsing dark magicks through his mind to purge any sense of immediate, vehement resistance from his thoughts.

Weakly, Thancred attempted to pull his head away from Lahabrea’s hand. Encouragement for Lahabrea to lean in while he continued to work Thancred’s shaft and suckle on the exposed side of his neck. To drink in the soft of his most vulnerable flesh.

Hips rose higher and higher to meet Lahabrea’s hand. Thancred uttered a soft gasp. While the rest of Lahabrea’s hand rubbed his shaft, the Ascian’s thumb ran back and forth over his tip, as though to coax an orgasm forth. Not that he needed much coaxing. The heat in his groin was all he could fathom. An intense feeling to latch onto amidst the artificial haze in his mind.

Higher, higher. Thancred inched closer to the brink. Lips parted to hang open. He gasped, moaned. A moan of near ecstasy. Closer, closer. His orgasm crept closer to his tip. He anticipated the release. Every nerve in his body stopped to receive it. 

But without warning, Lahabrea stopped to pinch his tip. Ecstatic moan turned to frustration. 

There was a fleeting moment of mental clarity, then a strange sense of reclamation when Lahabrea pulled his hand away ever so slightly. Thoughts flooded back in to his skull, but above all else, one in particular burst forth: “Go to hell,” Thancred snapped.

“I wonder, my pet.” Lahabrea purred in his ear. The hand that had been so masterfully massaging his cock now traced his abdomen. Teasingly close to his groin. “All this time… and I realize I have yet to take advantage of all your talents. You played the bard. A supposed master of subterfuge and deceit. How laughable. Yet I do have an interest in your skills.” He paused, kissed Thancred’s jaw, then commanded: “Sing.”

Song? How far the thought from his mind, even when he stood in control. In silence he debated a retort, but Lahabrea had made his order with that in mind: “And should you think to disobey, you would do well to remember that the soul harbored by this body is _disposable._ ”

A threat. Thancred steadied his breath and carefully snarled: “ _What_ do you want to hear?”

“You will compose me a melody. Here and now.”

Lip curled back in disgust. Lahabrea took notice and drifted to his mouth to offer a kiss. First a peck, then wet and invasive. How long had it been since he last sung a song for anyone, let alone improvise a tune? But the thought of fumbling now, when the power to protect was in his hands— even that power was dubious at best— he had to find the will somehow. Words to flatter the ego. A tune to please the ear. Thancred cleared his throat, dry and ragged as it was, and forced forth a melody:

_“Lord at iron tower’s peak,_

_Eyes of ire, dread desire,_

_He reaches forth with staff aflame,_

_His flight of fancy, king untamed.”_

Lahabrea listened in silence. Lips hovered above his own, close enough that he could feel the silent breath of laughter against his face. Palm met his temple once more, and though another verse moved to his tongue, he choked on his words, train of thought muddled by wretched magicks.

“Oh? Is that all?” Lahabrea asked, tone unimpressed. “How utterly disappointing. For both myself _and_ your fellow scion.”

No, no! He had to push through the fog, speak _something_. Tongue wagged, and though his voice had grown thin, he sung:

_“Infallible rapture at his hand—”_

Voice withered into a moan. Lahabrea rubbed his cock. Rhythmic and unbothered. Gut fluttered with delight. Back arched ever so slightly, and what little conscious thought he could manage drowned in the promise of orgasm. It struck him, a vague and quiet realization, that the hand at his shaft was not Urianger’s. The fingers were too short. Less delicate. Not soft enough. Surely a hand could not change so much in such short time. Surely…

“I hear no song,” Lahabrea murmured.

“I… can’t…!” Thancred gasped between his groans.

“A bard who cannot sing under duress is no bard at all.”

“Gods—!” Thancred managed. A prayer that Lahabrea would not stop this time. Muscles tensed in his abdomen. He leaned his head into Lahabrea’s hand, offered his dick a little higher with an eager roll of the hips. He needed this— a progression from want to raw _need_. “Please—!”

Lahabrea removed his hand and pinched his tip again. Thancred whimpered, long and desperate. “The dog craves a reward,” Lahabrea remarked. The mind-clouding magicks receded. “Yet I wonder. A reward for what? His disobedience? You’ve proven unable to follow a simple command. If at all, ’tis _I_ who warrants reward for my patience.”

Thancred struggled for breath.

An unwelcome finger slid past his cock. Slowly it traced upward along the rim of his anus. A frigid wetness followed in its wake. Lubricant of some form or another. Cold to the point of harboring a slight bite. “Not a sound,” Lahabrea warned, “I have given you an opportunity to speak. I will hear nothing from you now, _dog_.”

Thancred shifted against the floor. Freezing hand took it as an invitation to tease open his asshole and allow the cold inside. A strange heat gathered at the base of his throat. Stimulated by the abrupt chill that swirled around with Lahabrea’s eager fingering. Circular motions that made him want to huff in a desperate attempt to steady his quickened, uneven breath.

Fingers yielded to Lahabrea’s cock. All of it a mere opening act to allow the Ascian’s erect girth inside of him. Gently, Lahabrea thrust forward. He gave a short, satisfied groan. Almost enough to make Thancred gasp. But silence was a simple command. One he would try to keep, if only to endure longer.

A simple command that grew more and more complex with Lahabrea’s every movement. Rolling thrusts that began soft had already begun to bite. The cock inside of him was rock hard; a painful reminder of his own erection. Lahabrea grunted. It must have felt good against his member. Movements grew quicker. Controlled. Bordering on frenzied. Lips parted, desperate to vocalize. Caving to his primal desires when Thancred felt a sudden, splendid heat radiate inside him. He moaned. Perhaps it was the sound of his moaning that brought Lahabrea to cum too, but regardless, Lahabrea came inside him with a satisfied groan, hesitating before he pulled out, panting hungrily for breath.

“Good for naught else but receiving my cum,” Lahabrea remarked.

Both sat in silence, breath heavy. Lahabrea was building to something else. Perhaps wondering what game to play next. He knew these pauses, and knew what they meant. The briefest of reprieves to pull himself together. Lahabrea laughed to himself and caressed Thancred’s cheek. He inhaled to speak, no doubt something heinous— only to hear a meek apology from across the room.

“Master Lahabrea. Forgive me this interruption. You are needed. Summoned, rather… the Emissary would have words with you.”

Lahabrea tensed. His scowl felt palpable at the sound of his irritated hiss. “We must needs cut this short, then. A turn of good fortune for you, my pet.” His voice dropped low. “’Til I return.”

He pulled away, then hesitated. “I will have you touch yourself. Perhaps if you can come quick enough, you may have release.” Undoubtedly, Lahabrea gestured to one of his underlings. A second set of arms pulled him up to his knees, and with a rattle, unbound his wrists from their shackles. An impossibly strange decision, made all too quickly for him to think of how to turn it to his advantage.

The arrogance made his stomach tighten, and once more, he was made to remember the disadvantage of his situation. Arms freed, but no hope of escape. Thancred reached for himself with slow distrust for the Ascian in front of him. Palm met his cock. Tender and longing. It almost ached, how badly he wanted to play by Lahabrea’s game. Still, Thancred gave a shuddering gasp, and though he started slow, knew it had to be fast.

If he wanted to win anything from this, it had to be instantaneous.

He rolled his hand up and down his shaft. Counting down the seconds in his head. Then, without a moment’s hesitance, traded the potential of an orgasm for a quick tug upward on the blindfold to confirm the suspicions he had all along.

The body in front of him was not Urianger’s. The blond, sharp-eyed man in the midst of touching himself to the sight of Thancred was the same vessel Lahabrea had possessed for a while.

It was second-long glance at most, but it was enough of a most wonderful relief that Thancred near smiled before the underlings behind him grabbed his arms and twisted them painfully behind his back before they pressed him forward into the ground at Lahabrea’s feet.

“You’ll have to present their corpses to me,” Thancred barked with sudden gall, “I’ll not believe a damn word from your mouth unless I see them with mine own eyes. Swiving bastard—!”

Words tapered into a grit-toothed hiss. One of the underlings at his backside pressed a palm between his shoulder blades and released a horrible, pulsing shock. Punishment for his words. That much he expected. But then came another shock. Thancred groaned sharply. The third lasted longer. A scalding pain that rippled through every inch of his flesh. He howled.

The fifth drew out a scream. The twelfth stripped his throat bare. Thancred writhed beneath the underling’s touch. A burn like none other, that left no welts. By the time they released his arms and backed away, his body felt numb. Moist with sweat, too lightheaded to offer a shred of resistance when they picked him up again to drag him back to the shackled pillar.

“Was it worth it?” Lahabrea asked. It sounded as though he was now knelt in front of him, but the blindfold had been resettled over his nose. There was no way of being sure, especially now that the room spun around him. “A shame that we have come back all the way to the beginning. I take no pleasure in beating the insubordination from such a wretched creature.”

“More lies,” Thancred murmured, against his better judgement.

Lahabrea stood. The tip of his boot nudged against Thancred’s still semi-erect cock. “I presume you still seek a reward for your treachery. A ray of hope at the end of the darkness.” Thancred didn’t answer, but fortunately, Lahabrea was not looking for an answer. “So depraved your desire, I cannot help but offer it to you.”

Something aetherical manifested by his groin. Thancred tensed. It needed no invitation to envelop his cock. A heated touch pleasured every inch of his member. So powerful and all-encompassing that Thancred could not help but spread his legs a little wider. He knew what was coming. He knew this enchantment would inch him toward a most glorious orgasm. That it would lift him to the very peak, make him moan and whine in delight. He would come with a loud cry, and spurt onto the floor.

But it wouldn’t stop there.

No, it would press onward. On until his pelvis ached and every nerve in his cock cried out for mercy. Orgasm after orgasm after orgasm. Until the heat burned and he couldn’t walk even if they unbound him for good then and there.

And there would be no shirking the enchantment until Lahabrea returned. Gods. He would be delirious by then. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

Lahabrea lingered. Thancred knew what he craved to hear. Fervored pleas to spare him the agony. Any sort of verbal cue or dread in his expression that did so much as to _imply_ Lahabrea’s methods were working.

With a dissatisfied huff, Lahabrea turned to leave. The door creaked open, and Lahabrea stormed off, the scrape of his boots quick and heavy against the stone. Thancred listened, then drifted, mind carried away by the hot thrum of pleasure in his member. The door, however, began to creak shut when Thancred pulled himself back. “W-wait,” he pleaded, and when the creak hesitated, quietly added, “I regret it. I regret what I’ve done.”

The door closed. Did it work? He wasn’t immediately certain. But then the underling spoke, a gruff, “So now you beg.”

“Please,” Thancred murmured, voice weak. “I want to make amends. I have… I have information.”

“Oh?” Skeptical. He didn’t blame them.

“The Emissary. The Emissary, he…”

“Speak louder,” they hissed.

Thancred craned his head back against the pillar and let out a soft moan. “Can’t,” he said. Fingers balled into weak fists. “Please, it’s urgent. I… I pray he will take mercy on me if I—” Words tapered into a whine.

The underling billowed forth with the disgusted cluck of their tongue. “What do you know? What _could_ you possibly know?”

Lips fluttered, near silent. The underling drew closer. Robes brushed against his bound hand and they came close enough that Thancred could feel their breath against his shoulder. Ear offered, hungry for information. On barest whisper, Thancred said, “The Emissary… he spoke with me… ah!”

He threw his head back. Fingers clenched weakly for anything within reach, and latched on to the Ascian’s robes. They recoiled at once, at first perturbed, then settled when they realized it was naught but a moan of neediness. The culmination of tease after tease, the long, arduous process of drawing forth an orgasm from the depths of his being to deny it several times. Thancred squirmed. Radiant pleasure that pushed on past the precipice. He shivered, groaned, and finally, _finally_ came with a gush. Hand loosened just enough for the Ascian to pull their robe away with little additional effort. 

“I don’t have time for this,” the underling said, “I’ll speak with the Emissary myself. You had your chance to repent to Master Lahabrea. Now _suffer_.”

He moaned, loud and drawn-out. Quiet begging between his feral sounds. But the underling would have no more of it. They slipped out the door, extinguishing the sconces as they went, and Thancred was left in darkness.

As good as it felt to cry out as loud as he liked, he continued to wail only as long as he thought it would take for the underling to leave earshot. With no further need for the dramatics, he quietened to a gasp and turned blindly to his hand.

Numb fingers fumbled to feel up his prize. He had been aiming for a key, but for a second place prize, it wasn’t a bad catch. A pointed piece of metal prised from the Ascian’s robe. Not a particularly large piece. Difficult to work with, with no guarantee it would fit inside a lock well enough to pick it open.

A small margin for error made even smaller with the raw pain of overstimulation that spread quickly from member to pelvis.

“Twelve see me through,” he muttered to himself, and set to work.

He had been dealt a shit hand, but if there was one fact about himself he would never forget, no matter the storm:

It was that he was _damn_ good at cheating the game.


End file.
